Blade Of Fire
by Calimehter
Summary: Previously known as The Clutches Of Apocalypse/The Eye Of Apocalypse. This is not a Lord Of The Rings Fanfic, but it is based around LOTR as you will probaly find out. I hope you will read this fanfic, as I have put my soul into these words.


Burning Blade: Rising Rage  
  
The Dark Beginning Chapter 1:  
  
It was a cold, misty morning in the land of Gambert. The land was motionless and calm and the tree's were as still as a swollen carcass of a dead beast. New evil had risen, an evil that had once been defeated had now returned, with strength enough to destroy all the free world, but someone was already aware of the approaching evil. That someone is Istrandol. Istrandol is a strange man with mysterious heritage. Many do not know him, or wish to meet him, but the few who are his friends see through his rough exterior and into his soul.  
  
Istrandol's shoulder length hair is as dark as a ditch in the midst of night. His eyes are large and as blue as the summer afternoon sky, and when deeply focused on they show you the strength of his heart and his will to succeed. Istrandol is oblivious to how he became aware of the rising evil. It came to him in his sleep, like a burning sensation, eating away at his mind. However Istrandol has faced this evil before, he has stared into the dark bottomless pupils of evil.  
  
Istrandol stood up from the comforts of his bed, he was breathing heavily, and with every gasp of air he took, he could see his cold breath hanging in the air before being whisked off in the wind. He had been awake for many hours, and his mind was focused on his quest ahead of him, the quest of finding the Dark Lord and destroying him and his evil intentions. Istrandol has to stop the Dark Lord soon, as the Dark Lord has the power to cover all the land in a second darkness with one swift blow, he is just biding his time, weaving the veil of darkness and preparing to finally lower his gaff.  
  
Istrandol paced over to a wooden chair stood against a wall, he grabbed the rest of his clothes off the chair and pulled his large black tunic over his head, Istrandol has always insisted to dress in pure black.  
  
Istrandol sighed and turned to look at a large closet in the far corner, he knew what he had to do but was afraid. Istrandol stood still, frozen, as if blood had stopped flowing through his veins. Istrandol then slowly step after step drew closer to the closet, then reaching out his hand he touched the cold icy door handle of the closet, he then slowly twisted it, after much hesitation he then pulled the large wooden door towards him. There on a shelf stood a large bow and a quiver of arrows, he picked up the quiver and strapped it on to his back, and then he adopted the bow and threw it over his head and used the string of the bow to hold it in place. He then tilted his head slowly upwards, there on the top shelf was a large sword sitting in a sheath, the sheath was rather plain and dull, but their towards the top of the sheath and towards the hilt of the sword was a large letter. The letter was embroidered on to the sheath. Around the letter were four large red jewels taken from the walls of the cave of Bromor by Astrondol himself. The letter in the sheath was the letter A, A stood for his father's name. Astrondol.  
  
Astrondol was once a great warrior and the king of Bromor. Bromor is a large area of land in Gambert that was very illustrious and well thought of. Astrondol however was killed in a great war; it was in the old times, when the Dark Lord was at his youthful age, and trying to rule the land of Gambert. Astrondol was leading the men of Bromor into battle; they had a major disadvantage, as they were out numbered 3 to 1. Astrondol carried this very sword into the battle of Bromor and fought well with the legendary blade but was killed by the Dark Lord himself. Istrandol was in the battle alongside his father, and saw his father fall in front of his eyes; from that moment Istrandol has felt extreme hatred towards the Dark Lord. Istrandol took his father's sword from his very hand and fought the Dark Lord sword-to-sword, blade to blade, but was eventually defeated, however the Dark Lord didn't kill Istrandol.  
  
Istrandol is the heir of Bromor, but is haunted by his father's death and has refused to take the throne.  
  
The Sword that resides in his father's sheath is a strong blade; the hilt is wide and proud. This sword was crafted by the elves, so the blade is strong, but also light so easier to maneuver. The elves come from a distant wood named Schlom to the east of Bromor. The Elves are pure people that look identical to humans, but their ears are pointed towards the top, and Elves are usually taller. Elves are normally rather tall at around 6 foot 5 in modern day height, and they speak in their own tongue called Elvish, but they can also speak in the dialect of man.  
  
Istrandol took a deep breath and picked up the sword with his raw, cold hands. He attached the sheath to his belt, so it was gently hanging by his side at all times. Istrandol then paced over to the front door of his small cottage styled home, but he didn't open the door. He lowered his hand to the hilt of his father's sword and gently pulled the sword from it's sheath, he raised the sword to his face and stared at the blade sternly, the blade of the sword appeared to burn before his eyes, a strong heat came from the flickering flames. Istrandol stood staring at the burning blade and watched the flickering sparks and embers, he then held his hand up towards the fire, and he could feel the intense heat on his skin. Istrandol then moved his hand slowly away from the blade. Istrandol's attention then became drawn to a window, Istrandol walked up to the shimmering glass window, put both hands on the window ledge, and peered out, he could see a tall figure in the darkness, Istrandol smiled, placed the burning blade back into it's sheath where the flames slowly died down. Istrandol then left the comforts of his home and entered the rural outside world. 


End file.
